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Updated: June 14, 2025
He was no longer just Paul Verdayne, the ordinary young Englishman; he was a god and this was Olympus. "Look, Paul!" she said at last. "Can you not see Desdemona peeping from the balcony of her house there? And to think she will have no happiness before her Moor will strangle her to-night! Death without joys. Ah! that is cruel.
Immediately after breakfast he would have presented himself before had he dared the Boy called at the home of the Ledouxs. Verdayne had important letters to write, as he informed the Boy with a significant smile, and begged to be allowed to remain behind. And the impatient youth, blessing him mentally for his tact, set forth alone.
You must remember, my Boy, that it is a long time since your mother died and men of my age sometimes forget!" "I will remember," the Boy said, gently. But as he looked up into the face of his friend, something in his heart told him that Paul Verdayne did not forget!
Without any further word she walked quickly and quietly away, making for the door through which she had entered the cathedral. The man, with a little sigh, picked up his hat and followed her, Paul hard upon his heels. Outside in the sunshine, Verdayne watched the fair Russian make across the square by the way which she had come. Her companion turned abruptly to the right and walked rapidly away.
The Boy thought of Isabella, too, and was anxious to know whether his Father Paul was going to be happy at last. He had been very curious to see the woman who could play so cruel a part toward the man he loved. If he had been Verdayne, he thought, he would never forgive her never!
The hôtel slept, and Verdayne heard the bell pealing through the silent house as he stood shivering and waiting on the doorstep. Presently he heard the sound of bolts being withdrawn and a shock-headed night porter thrust his face out into the damp evening air. The sight of Sir Paul's tall figure drew his immediate attention.
Many remembered that Verdayne, like an uncle of his, Lord Hubert Aldringham, had been much given to foreign travel in his younger days and had made many friends and acquaintances among the nobility and royalty of other lands, and although it was strange, they thought it was not at all improbable that the lad was connected with some one of those great families across the Channel.
To an Englishman, home is the beginning and the end of the world, and Paul Verdayne was a typical Englishman.
The ring-dove was gone, a thing of mystery lay there instead unresisting, motionless, white. Now and then Paul looked at her half in fear. Was she real? Was it some dream, and would he wake in his room at Verdayne Place among the sporting prints and solid Chippendale furniture to hear Tompson saying, "Eight o'clock, sir, and a fine day"? Oh, no, no, she was real!
Daisy Livingstone, the American girl, from that meeting in the train had found a peculiar attraction in her big Englishman, as she called Verdayne playfully when speaking of him to her friends. She knew now, of course, that he was the famous Sir Paul Verdayne, the personage so prominent in British public affairs.
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